


You and Me and the Moon

by Siria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are unusual anniversary gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and Me and the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dogeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/gifts).



> For Jenn, on her birthday. Thanks to Cate for all her help, and to Trin for betaing.

Derek realised something was up almost as soon as he got out of the car. He was wearing his Jiminy Cricket scrubs. Judging from past experience, that should have earned him at least a semi-ironic wolf whistle; bending to retrieve the bag of groceries from the back of the car should have inspired a comment about having a hot nurse for a husband that was filthy enough to scandalise old Mrs Murphy across the street. Stiles should have been complaining about how Derek was giving him all these terrible, terrible scrubs-related kinks, and goosing him while pretending to help carry in the groceries. 

Instead, Stiles was sitting on the stoop, arms wrapped around his knees. His fingertips were beating out an anxious tattoo against his legs, and he smelled of sour anxiety. 

Derek stopped and swallowed. "What happened? Stiles, is—is it Cora?"

Stiles shook his head and took a deep breath. "No, no, everyone's fine, I just, uh—before I say anything, I want you to know that I didn't mean to and if you could just let me explain before you start to yell, or wolf out, or whatever—"

"What's going on?" Derek crossed the short distance between them, setting the grocery bag down beside the stoop, before taking a seat next to Stiles. "I don't—"

"Wait here, I'll be right back," Stiles said hurriedly, jumping up and retreating into the house before Derek had a chance to so much as reach out to him, to reassure them both through scent and touch.

Derek sat there, bewildered, and contemplated the fact that the front lawn needed mowing for a solid minute until Stiles reappeared. He was carrying a small cardboard box which he put, very carefully, in Derek's lap. Derek stared down at it: it was a battered, reused USPS flat-rate box with packing tape peeling off the sides. "You got me a used cardboard box? What happened to lube being the only acceptable anniversary gift?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Is it a box full of lube? Because I just got off a twelve-hour shift so this much might be a little optimistic, but I'm not going to—"

He made to open the box, but Stiles put his hands over Derek's, stilling them. "No," Stiles said, shaking his head, "no, before you open that, you've got to hear me out, ok? Promise?"

"Okay," Derek said slowly. "I promise." He had no idea what Stiles could have done that he was so nervous about. They fought, sure, but it had been years since Derek had thought that walking away from Stiles could ever be better than staying. Derek might not trust Stiles to remember that trash pickup was on Tuesdays, but he did trust him. 

"So you know how Deaton gave me that book to study?"

"The one you've been using to make the desk in the guest room level?" Stiles had brought it home a couple of weeks ago, huffing about Deaton breaking new ground in cryptic utterances and unwanted gifts. "I thought you said you'd given up on anything to do with learning magic?"

"You are a sweet and naive werewolf, and that is why I love you and think it's a wonder you haven't been caught by one of those Nigerian scammers yet," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. That made Derek feel a little better—if Stiles was still capable of snarking at him, they weren't looking at a worst case scenario. "Did you believe me when I said I was giving up curly fries, too? When I promised to stop writing letters to the _Beacon Herald_ 's opinion page? When I—"

"Stiles." Derek had long since learned that it was best to cut him off before he got into full-flow, because Stiles could deflect with the best of them. 

"I got bored," Stiles blurted out. "Like, working from home, yay, no pants? But then on the other hand, I'm stuck waiting on that one client to get back to me before I can finish this project, and there's only so much daytime TV a guy can watch."

Derek was trying to figure out where this was going. "So you read the book?"

"I read the book," Stiles said, nodding. 

"And then you made… a box," Derek said flatly. 

"I made what is _in_ the box," Stiles said. "I didn't mean to? But apparently just reading some spells out loud and finding them _interesting_ is all it takes for a spark at certain times of the month, and then that stupid tiny cactus Lydia gave us as a housewarming gift turns out to be, like, a conduit for magical weirdness." Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Who ever heard of a cactus as a familiar? You should've just let me overwater the damn thing back when she gave it to us."

"I like the cactus," Derek said. 

"You would," Stiles said. " _Prickly_."

Derek waited for him to continue with the story, but nothing else seemed to be forthcoming. Stiles just sat and stared at the box, as if it contained a bomb. Derek sighed, and folded back the flaps. He peered inside, expecting to see… well, he had no idea what, but something illegal, or dangerous, or even just plain gross. Instead, Derek saw an egg, nestled inside some scrunched-up newspaper. It was much larger than any other egg Derek had ever held—maybe half a foot long and a pale, matte green. The egg was curiously heavy, and smelled funny. He could hear Stiles' heartbeat ratchet back up a notch. 

"You're freaking out because you accidentally stole something with magic?" Derek asked. "I wouldn't tell you to make a habit out of it, but I don't think ostriches are that endangered, Stiles, it's—"

"It's not an ostrich egg," Stiles said. "It's…" He did something complicated with his hands, as if he were trying to communicate with Derek using sign language alone. When Derek frowned, thoroughly confused, Stiles yelled, "Oh my god, fine, we're having a baby, happy now?"

Derek stared at him, at a total loss for words. It had come up in passing, the idea of them having kids. Derek had never made a secret of the fact that he wanted them, but Stiles had only finished his Master's a couple of months ago and was still trying to get his career going. They both had jobs, and a house whose plumbing needed work, and a pack that was only now really settling into something like stability. Nothing had ever been decided on formally, but the tacit understanding had been 'some day, not yet.' 

Derek looked down at the egg in the box, then back over at Stiles. With as much enunciation as he could muster, he said, "What?"

"The egg," Stiles said. His mouth twisted, his scent all acrid sweat. "There's a baby inside it. Our baby."

Derek blinked. "Our baby. The child of a guy and his werewolf husband. In an egg."

"Look, you say that like it's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to us, but we've had a tree try to kill us and you were once possessed by a demonic fly, and that's not even getting into the time with the moulting Sasquatch in the municipal pool. So in comparison, this is, you know…" Stiles scratched at the nape of his neck. "Admittedly, I could have relied on something other than Google Translate to get the gist of what the spell was about."

"Oh my god," Derek said. 

"I know, I know," Stiles said, "let the ghosts of outraged college professors past chastise me—"

"You think the most significant issue here is that you used _Google Translate_? Stiles—"

"—But that ablative was really stumping me, and also I was a little bit hangry?" Stiles' shoulders slumped. "I don't know, I thought the spell's title meant 'full moon happiness', and I thought, if ever anyone deserved that…"

Derek looked back down at the egg. It didn't look much like a full moon, except maybe if you squinted, but that wasn't what Derek was focusing on. He could hear a heartbeat, tiny but steady; beneath the chalky scent of the eggshell itself was layered the old-penny smell of blood and something faint and far more complex, something that Derek couldn't describe with any words other than _pack_. He was holding their child. Derek swallowed hard around a sudden lump in his throat. 

"So total accident, but it's a good accident, right? You're not—I know I fucked up, but you do want it, don't you?"

Derek leaned over, mindful of the box on his lap and kissed Stiles, hard. Stiles clearly hadn't shaved that day, and his stubble scraped and scratched against Derek's own. The kiss was as slow as Derek could manage, and Derek tried to make it echo with all the things that he thought he'd never have again before he'd first moved back to Beacon Hills—the certainty of family, and love, and comfort; the welcome tether of pack and the final absence of fear. 

"Dangerous," Stiles murmured against his mouth when the kiss finally ended; his eyes were heavy-lidded. "Using your awesome sex powers on the front porch. You'll scandalise the neighbours."

Derek rolled his eyes as he sat back upright. "If we haven't made any of them move away by now, we never will."

"Careful," Stiles said, leaning into his side. "A stubborn man might take that as a challenge, and by stubborn I mean hi, have you met me?"

They were silent for a moment, and then Stiles asked, "You're not mad?" 

"We're going to have a baby," Derek said, knowing that there was no keeping the awe out of his voice. He ran the fingertips of one hand over the egg's smooth curves; it was warmer than he'd expected it to be.

"In the interests of full disclosure," Stiles said, "there is like a one per cent chance that it might possibly maybe turn out to be a duck."

"Stiles."

"But hey, at least we've got nine months to figure out the statistics on that for sure? Also baby-proof the house—we'll need one of those gate things for the stairs, and lots of mushed banana gloop, and oh man, do you think they make Avengers onesies for babies?"

"I don't know," Derek said, putting his free arm around Stiles and silently deciding that he'd be the one to buy the actual necessities they'd need for a newborn. 

"Plus that much time lets us figure out the important stuff," Stiles continued. "I mean, Scott's a lock for godfather, it's a sacred bro responsibility, but who's going to be godmother? I'd say Malia, or ooh, Kira, because she could teach the kiddo to wield a katana like a tiny baby ninja, but then would Lydia feel scorned? We don't want to scorn Lydia, we never scorn Lydia, the last time Lydia was scorned it made the _New York Times_ —"

Derek sighed. 

"—But let's face it, we're also going to need at least three, four months to find a way to tell my dad that he's going to be grandpa to an egg-baby. Like, best case scenario I get the pained face and an 'Aw, jeez.' You, he'll say nothing to you, because you're the wunderkind paediatric nurse son-in-law—"

"And not the one who cast the spell—"

"Let's not get all nitpicky here," Stiles said loftily, poking Derek in the side. "Anyway, the important point is, lots of couples successfully deal with unplanned pregnancies every year. Ours is a tiny bit more unplanned than most, but hey. Our first kiss was right after you rescuing me from that vampire clan, so it's not like we're not used to rolling with the punches. Well, rolling with the megalomaniacal wannabe Transylvanians who wanted to get all up on this sweet AB-." Stiles frowned, then shook his head. "Whatever, what I'm trying to say is, we do pretty good when we're caught off guard, so just imagine how easy it's going to be when we've got time to prep!"

Which, Derek would swear later, was why the shell chose that exact moment to start to crack.


End file.
